Teeth
by ChasingPavements19
Summary: Without eyes to see, how can you ever hope to remember me? Remember the touch of my hand, sweat and teeth marks. I'm here, close to you. Olitz One-shot from the campaign trail.


**This is my sauciest piece, and I'm pretty sure it qualifies for the ****_Tame_**** Hall of Fame, but whatever, no shame. Either way, enjoy it. Reviews, of course, are always welcomed/encouraged. P.S. This hiatus is kicking my ass, what about you guys?**

* * *

She waited for the click of the keycard. She sank down into the cushiony bed, Getting Comfortable.

Getting Comfortable. Comfortable was relative. At the moment, she found herself quite Uncomfortable. Nervous, thrilled, terrified, exhilarated. And as the minutes passed by in the silence of her laboured breathing and throbbing heart, she found herself growing more and more Uncomfortable.

When she saw the crack of light peak through the doorway and his shadow in it, her whole body seemed to flutter. In the dark, he could see her, she could tell. She sensed him watching the outline of her form rise and fall in the dark. He chose to study her this way before switching on the dim light.

In slow, deliberate movements, he slipped off his jacket, laying it on the back of a chair. He slid his cobalt blue tie out from around his collar and ran the fabric through his hands. He eyed her like a dessert, preparing to lick the icing off. Agonizingly slow. Magnificently thorough.

"Hi, Liv. I guess this means we're doing this." he said in a low tone. It was that familiar tone. Feigned innocence, like he had no idea what his voice or his words or his touch did to her. Or asked. Was it a question? We're doing this. Not a question, call it a fact. We're doing this, as in We talked about it. Her making an appearance here, in the middle of the night was all the answer he needed.

She nodded timidly.

He nodded too, but only to himself. She closed her eyes and rested her head on the backboard. A deep anxious sigh fell from her mouth. She was shaking she was so nervous.

"Good, keep them closed." Thump-thump the sound of shoes being kicked aside.

Click-click-slide, the silver buckle, the heavy leather, escaping its loops.

The careful pop of two-three-four-five buttons. Cotton fabric peeled off a taught chest and falling to the carpet.

He allowed himself a moment to think. "Now, I want you to feel free to express yourself. Scream, bleed, use your teeth. It's essential that you feel safe. Give me a word."

"Thorn." she said.

He nodded. A dip in the Marriott Mattress, a rising dent in the sheets, squeak in the frame. His rough hand grabbed her ankle, pulling her underneath him. She squirmed. "Relax, baby." he said forcefully.

"I want you to feel at ease. I know you struggle with this, but I feel it's imperative to remind you who is in control. I want you to feel good. But only because I say so, understand?"

She nodded feebly.

"I think I know you well enough. I know what you like. I'll try not to hurt you, if I do, you say-"

"Thorn."

"Very good." he chuckled into her flesh.

/

There were a good two-hundred and seventy seconds of foreplay before suddenly, there was a knock at the door that seemed to come from miles away. Interruptus to their coitus.

She sighed, feeling his mouth leave her skin, then his hands were gone too.

"What's happening?" she hissed, eyes still closed.

"Quiet." he said, lifting off the bed with a squeak. Light footsteps, the steady rattle of the A/C, the opening of a door, pleasantries exchanged, his return,

"Are you ready, baby?"

"Ready for what?" she asked confused. She felt terribly self-conscious, all too vulnerable. She was met by a resounding silence. His heavy hands were back on her smooth legs, reaching for palmfulls of her behind. "Ready for wh-?"

That. Yes, burning walls and a flood of ice. To relieve her? To send her into a fervor. Her hands grabbed greedily at his curls. A number of incoherencies escaped her lips. She failed to stifle a moan. She had to let go of a sound, even if it was only a small one. But none of it was forced. Nothing was ever for theatrics. Theatrics were selfish, inauthentic, and very un-them.

Their lovemaking was about giving, taking, yielding, sharing, Trust. Encouragement.

When she liked something, she let him know with a hitch in her breath or a shift in her hips or a lusty, "I like that."

And he, being so generous, appreciated her appreciation, in full.


End file.
